


laundry day

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Series: Star Trek Prompts [11]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 15:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12584708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: Spock helps Bones fold.





	laundry day

When the door chimes, Len calls for Jim to enter without even looking up from his laundry. He’s not in civvies often enough to have to take care of it regularly- he doesn’t care to admit it, but this is the first time he’s even touched anything other than his underwear drawer in days- so he’s opted to do the folding himself. The action’s so mundane as to’ve become cathartic, this far out along the edges of Federation space.

He sighs, smoothing out an ancient t-shirt from college. Len’s not sure why he even still has the thing; it was too big when he bought it, way back when, and he’s slimmed up considerably since then. It’s worn out, too, so old you can barely even read “Ole Miss” any more. Maybe that’s the attraction in and of itself, he admits–the cotton is soft under his fingertips in a way that only comes with time.

Footsteps come to a stop at the threshold of his bedroom, and he blindly tosses a few pairs of pants over his shoulder. “Make yourself useful, while you’re here; it’s been a long day.”

“The length of the day on a starship is standardized, Doctor; no day is longer or shorter than another,” Spock says lightly (for a Vulcan), and Len nearly jumps a foot in surprise.

“Sweet Jesus!” He lays one hand over his pounding heart, squeezing his eyes tightly shut for a brief moment. “You scared the _devil_ out of me. I thought…” Len trails off as Spock sets both pairs of jeans on the bed next to him, folded as neatly as Len’s own mama would have done.

The only thing he can think to say is, “I guess _somethin’_ Lady Amanda taught you managed to slip through after all.”

Spock fairly radiates amusement when Len looks up at him, for all that his body language doesn’t change a bit. “You did order me to ‘make myself useful’,” he says, reaching for the laundry basket, and the door chimes again.

“That you, Jim?” Len hollers. He breaks eye contact with Spock, his cheeks heating up slightly, and brushes past him.

“Who else, Bones?”

Len glances over his shoulder at Spock as he moves into the main room, receiving a raised eyebrow in response. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” he chuckles, thumbing the button to open the door. “Come on in, Jimmy.”

“Been a long day,” Jim announces even as he crosses the threshold, making Len smile; there are two glasses slung between his fingers and a bottle of wine in his other hand. “Just what the doctor ordered?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“Sure thing.” Len sets his hands on his hips, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Got another glass?” he asks slyly.

Jim tilts his head, setting the wine aside in favor of sliding his arm around Len’s waist. “Another…?”

“Spock’s in the bedroom,” Len says cheerfully, and Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s folding my laundry,” he adds.

Jim licks his lips, opens his mouth, and promptly closes it again. Len waits patiently, a gentle smile on his lips; a moment later Jim admits, “I’m confused.”

“Thought he was you, so I threw some pants at him and told him to make ‘imself useful.” Len palms Jim’s ass, getting a surprised “oomph” and a rakish grin for his efforts. “He’s much better at foldin’ ‘n you are,” he continues, voice teasing. “Everything’s nice ‘n’ crisp, and he didn’t even try and pull off my shirt because he ‘thought I wanted _everything_ folded, oh, sorry, Bones’.”

Jim’s eyes twinkle as he carelessly tosses the wine glasses towards the couch- they must be polycarbonate, the way they clink together without breaking- but Len smacks him in the chest before he can open his mouth.

“If you try it tonight, I’m takin’ the wine and Spock, and I’m leavin’ you with the laundry,” he says firmly, rolling his eyes–though he can’t quite bite back his fond smile; Jim just grins and leans in to steal a quick kiss.

He’s still close enough for his breath to brush over Len’s lips when he murmurs thoughtfully, “So Spock’s in your bedroom.” 

“’N’ he can probably hear every word we’re saying,” Len points out, nipping at Jim’s bottom lip before extricating himself completely. “Not to mention that I wasn’t raised to leave the chores up to my guests,” he chuckles, heading towards the other room, “no matter how entertaining the sight.”

Jim hooks two fingers in Len’s belt loop and crowds close as he follows him. When they turn the corner, Jim calls out, “Evening, Mr. Spock,” with laughter thick in his voice.

“Captain.” Spock nods vaguely in their direction. His attention is caught, however, by the Starfleet Academy t-shirt he holds out in front of himself, one eyebrow raised. “I was under the impression you had not attended the Academy, Doctor.”

Len clears his throat as Jim buries a laugh in the back of his neck. “That’s, ah, a correct impression, Spock,” he says, trailing awkwardly to a stop. Jim is a line of warmth and gentle strength against his back, and it does nothing to help keep his face from burning. “You’ll notice it’s also a tad large for me.”

“As are many of your non-uniform shirts,” Spock points out. “As a data point, the size indicates little–”

“It’s mine, Spock,” Jim says, with gentle amusement, and Spock’s back straightens even further than normal as he looks over at them.

“Indeed,” he comments blandly, his gaze flicking across the both of their faces. His movements are swift and efficient as he begins folding the shirt, his eyes swiftly averted once more.

“Spock,” Len says, slowly. If he were anyone else, Len would think that not-expression on his face was betrayal. “Did you not realize…?”

“There are nuances of human culture which I still do not easily recognize.” Spock sets the shirt on the stack, his fingers lingering on the soft fabric. “If your attempts to inform me of the changed nature of your relationship were couched in allusion and indirect language, I have missed them.”

His body language is difficult to parse at the best of times; in this low lighting, with him partly turned away from them, Len can’t even begin to guess what he’s thinking. He hopes Jim- whose fingers are drumming a thoughtful beat against Len’s hip- has a better inkling of what’s going on underneath that bowlcut.

They’re close enough together that he knows, from Jim’s intake of breath, that he’s about to speak the moment before he does; Len relaxes, certain that Jim will- as ever- know exactly the right thing to say.

“I suppose, then, that our attempts to imply we were also interested in changing the nature of our relationship with _you_ must have _likewise_ flown over your head.”

Or not.

“Jim,” Len hisses, shoving him off. “A little tact–”

“Has obviously gotten us nowhere,” Jim whispers, his grin crooked. “We have to adapt to changing circumstances, Bones.” His step is light as he curves around the room, jerking his chin to motion Len towards Spock’s other side. Len ignores him.

They’re both under intense scrutiny; Spock’s dark eyes cut from one to the other almost suspiciously as Jim–well, for lack of a better word, Jim _stalks_ forward. He jerks his chin again, hissing, “Are you going to pull your weight here or not?” and Len throws his hands in the air.

“Spock, get away while you still can,” he complains. “Datin’ him isn’t worth it.”

Jim turns his attention from Spock to Len, rearing back incredulously. “Excuse me?”

Len lifts an eyebrow, his hands finding his hips once more as he rocks back on his heels. “‘Pull my weight’?” he demands. “Whose bedroom is he in again, Jim boy?”

“He’s here to fold your laundry!”

“And he’s doin’ a better job of it than you ever have!”

Jim spins on his heel, gesturing to Len with one hand as he addresses Spock. “And he says dating _me_ is a trial. Mr. Spock, have you ever seen anyone quite so contrary, for the sheer sake of being contrary?”

“Every time he looks in the mirror,” Len scoffs, not even giving Spock a chance to answer, and Jim’s surprised into a laugh that he quite ineffectively turns into a cough.

“For God’s sake, Bones; can you get through a conversation without insulting him?”

Len looks at Spock, raking his gaze from pristinely shined shoes to pointed ears, and bounces on his toes. “Nope,” he states, popping the ‘p’ with distinct relish.

Spock- who’d been looking increasingly overwhelmed since Jim’s announcement- visibly (if subtly) relaxes into the familiar exchange. “I could hardly expect any less from the good doctor,” he informs Jim, clasping his hands behind his back. “In the face of superior logic, he rarely has outlet beyond unfounded accusations and vulgarities.”

“Very true, Mr. Spock,” Jim agrees gravely, likewise clasping his hands behind his back. His eyes, however, sparkle with the utmost mischief.

“‘Superior’ logic,” Len mutters, faux indignant, and sidles up to Spock, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his chin up to meet those dark eyes. (On the Vulcan’s other side, Jim likewise closes the distance between them.) Len takes a breath, forcing some of the tension out of his shoulders; in return, his voice comes out more hesitant, more raw than he’d intended.

“Teasin’ aside, Mr. Spock…” he dares to reach out and brush his fingers over his covered upper arm. “We’da broached the subject more carefully if we’d realized you didn’t already know.”

“There is no need for… apology, Doctor,” Spock promises, after a moment of hesitation. It doesn’t feel as if he’s lying–simply that he’s uncertain of how to respond. Possibly, Len muses, uncertain as to how he even feels about all of this.

Jim sets a hand on Spock’s shoulder and then, after a moment of deliberation, slides it around to cup the back of Spock’s neck. He says firmly, his gaze locked with Spock’s, “We’re your friends; we should have told you about our relationship explicitly some time ago, and that deserves an apology.”

“Captain–”

“Jim,” Len interjects. His lips twitch as Spock startles, ever so slightly–he understands, intimately, the way the rest of the world falls away when Jim Kirk looks at you like _that_. “In a situation like this, it’s more than appropriate to call him ‘Jim’.”

“Now Bones, on the other hand, will kick you out of his quarters for calling him ‘Leonard’,” Jim teases, his thumb tracing an arc back and forth over the soft skin of Spock’s neck.

Len scoffs, running his knuckles lightly down the curve of Spock’s spine as he leans across him to taunt, “Just you, Jimmy.”

Jim raises his eyebrows, a delighted- if surprised- sort of grin on his face, but Len leans back ruefully before he can respond. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he says, pointedly folding his arms over his chest to make sure he keeps his hands to himself.

“Right.” Jim licks his lips. “ _Right_.” He reluctantly removes his hand from Spock’s neck, and for a moment he’s quiet, his hand flexing thoughtfully by his side, and then he squares his shoulders–and Len yawns, loudly and involuntarily, burying it behind one hand as he blinks away the tears that spring up in response. When his vision clears, Jim’s deflated once more, a fond, indulgent smile on his lips.

“It’s been a long day,” he says again, and Spock shoots Len an exasperated look. Jim continues, oblivious, as Len rubs a grin away with one hand, “Maybe we should leave the particulars of this conversation for another time.”

“Probably not the worst idea,” Len admits. He can feel the exhaustion pressing down on him, and knows- no matter how nice of a front they put up- that Spock and Jim feel the same.

Spock nods, short and sharp, and folds his hands behind his back once more. “Then I will take my leave. Goodnight, Jim; goodnight… Leonard.”

“Well, well, well,” Len drawls, a grin on his face and rocking back on his heels. “Good _night_ to you, too, Mr. Spock.”

Jim hums, a twinkle in his eye as he watches the exchange. “I like it when you get along,” he tells them, sincere and amused and open all at once, in that way only he can manage.

“We always get along,” Len protests. “Sometimes ‘getting along’ just involves a lot of yelling. Right, Spock?” He nudges the Vulcan with one elbow, grinning broadly.

Spock, bless him, comes to the conclusion that changing the subject is the safest route. “Do you require further assistance with your laundry, Doctor?”

Biting back his laughter (Jim, on the other side of Spock, doesn’t even bother), Len shakes his head. “I’ve got it covered, Spock, but thank you for the offer.”

Jim’s giggles trail off while Len smiles up at Spock, and for a long moment the room is still and companionably quiet. Len doesn’t want Spock to go, he muses; and all it would take to keep him here would be one word–”stay”.

But without a proper discussion of what they all expect from each other, he can’t put that kind of pressure on Spock. Len sighs, running a hand through his hair with a tired smile. “Have a lovely night, Spock,” he says softly.

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgement, and just like that he’s gone.

Len groans, fingers curling in the fabric of Jim’s uniform shirt as he drops his forehead to the other man’s shoulder. Jim’s arms circle around him, holding him loosely, as he grumbles goodnaturedly, “Half expected you to up and invite him to bed while he was here.”

Jim hums. “I thought about it, but it wasn’t worth the gamble; seemed more likely you’d kick us both out.”

Well, he’s probably not wrong. Len extricates himself with a snort. “Go on and change while I finish up here,” he orders, turning away and busying his hands with the last few shirts in the basket.

(With a grin, he pretends not to see Jim stealing his Ole Miss shirt from the bottom of the stack.)

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](https://enterprisetrampstamp.tumblr.com/post/166987923537/11-mcspirk)


End file.
